


in spite of ourselves

by Nokomis



Series: Batfam tumblr prompt fic [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adrenaline-fueled Makeouts, Complicated Relationships, First Kiss, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, No One Talks About Feelings, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: The easy bust that Jason had called Tim to help with had quickly gone pear-shaped, and they find themselves hiding together, crowded in close together. Tim quickly finds that he appreciates that intimacy alot.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Batfam tumblr prompt fic [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870660
Comments: 4
Kudos: 238





	in spite of ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anonymous for the prompt, Tim/Jason, under the cover of darkness. Originally posted [here on tumblr.](https://nokomiss.tumblr.com/post/627099279817932800/could-i-request-some-jasontim-with-b-for-that)

Tim didn’t think of himself as someone who ran _from_ danger, but he also didn’t want to die, so exceptions were made. The easy bust that Jason had called him in for -- just a dozen henchmen, no big players, just need someone to watch my six -- had quickly gone pear-shaped, and four explosions later, they were running away as fast as they could.

Tim followed Jason’s lead for once, trusting him to have scoped out the area and to have a place to lie low in this particular worst-case scenario. This trust was immediately proven to be misplaced.

Jason led them into an alley, the large crew of supposed henchmen -- clearly mercenaries, and well-trained ones -- hot on their heels. 

“Through here,” Jason hissed, and pushed open a metal door. Tim scurried after him, running down a linoleum-tiled hallway and skidding around a corner. The hall was lined with closed doors, and Tim didn’t see a likely exit.

A bullet dinged off a light sconce near Tim’s head, and he let out an involuntary yelp. Jason grabbed his wrist, pulling him along, shoving through a door seemingly at random.

It led into an outdoor area, clearly intended at one point to be an open air dining area. The walls were crumbling and the pavement cracked, and Jason spotted the crevice before Tim did. It was one of those curious leftovers from the rebuilding process after the quake, where one building had survived and the neighboring one hadn’t, and some of the more stable rubble had been left behind when the destroyed building had been bulldozed. 

The result was a small window, seemingly too small for someone as bulky as Red Hood to fit through, set into a low brick wall that in reality belonged to no building. They crawled through the window, and the space behind was narrow and claustrophobic, but big enough to fit them both standing, so long as they didn’t mind being in each other’s personal space. 

This left Jason was crowded right up against Tim. He was breathing as hard as Tim himself was; chest rising and falling, nearly brushing against the rise and fall of Tim’s own.

Tim was grateful for how little of the streetlamp’s light filtered into this area; Jason wouldn’t be able to see how flushed his cheeks were. He could feel the heat in two hot pinpricks on his cheeks, and told himself it was from the chase.

“What a clusterfuck,” Jason muttered. Tim stared resolutely at his chest, because if he angled his head up to look Jason in the eye, it would make this feel even more intimate than it already was. 

“You said it was going to be, and I quote, _easy peasy lemon squeezy_ ,” Tim whispered, and offered no further commentary on exactly how wrong Jason had been. 

Instead of offering a rebuke in kind, Jason sighed. “When is anything ever easy?”

Tim knew that tone.Tim invented that tone. “Hey.” He pushed against Jason’s shoulder, just enough to get his attention. “You’re not allowed to mope, that’s my schick.”

He looked up at him, and yeah, this position was exactly as intimate as he thought it would be. Head tilted, because Jason was stupid tall, and he felt strangely exposed with his throat bared like that. And Jason himself--

Sweat was making the curl in his hair more pronounced, and he was flushed. The exertion from the fight and the running, Tim told himself, though a small part of him played out a fantasy that Jason was flushed because of his proximity to _Tim_. That Jason’s breath would stutter if Tim just reached out and grazed his knuckles against Jason’s belly, against those rock-hard muscles down to his rock-hard---

Tim abruptly pulled back as much as he could, head hitting against the rough brick wall. They were still too close-- much too close, given how interested his dick had been in that fantasy. 

Tim was so incredibly thankful that he was in costume, that his eyes were shielded from view with the mask and lenses. 

There was a small flurry of movement from outside their hiding spot, and Jason instinctively pushed forward, pressing their bodies together-- _protecting_ Tim, shielding him from view in the unlikely scenario that they were discovered. 

Heavy footsteps, a few yelled threats, and a short volley of gunfire, apparently aimed at nothing but shadows. Tim knew they could take the mercenaries, that Jason had a gun on his hip with enough bullets to eliminate the threat in seconds, but instead Jason was pushed up against him, breathing heavily against his ear. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat, and the faint acrid tang of smoke, and his breath against Tim’s ear was almost too much to handle.

Tim shivered, and hated himself for it, because he _knew_ that Jason could feel it. Because he could feel the way Jason’s arms were tense around him, braced against the wall, and could feel the way Jason’s hips stuttered lightly against him as Jason shifted his weight. Could feel--

Tim’s eyes widened, probably enough that Jason could tell even _with_ the mask. Because Tim wasn’t the only one whose dick was interested in the current situation.

Tim looked up at Jason’s face. He was being uncharacteristically quiet, though the mercenaries just a few scant yards away could feasibly explain that.

Tim opened his mouth, about to ask… something, he didn’t even know, but just wanting to break this sudden, terrible tension between them. Jason was staring at him, Tim was staring back, opaque lenses to opaque lenses, and Tim desperately needed to see Jason’s eyes, to see whether his pupils were blown or if he was looking at Tim with scorn.

Jason reached over and put a single finger over Tim’s mouth, stopping him from asking any of the thousand questions he had in mind. Then he trailed the finger down, gloves leaving a sharp smoky taste on his lip. As Jason traced a single, solitary line down Tim’s throat, Tim thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

It was so similar to the fantasy he’d indulged in earlier, and Jason looked so intent and soft, like he was memorizing what Tim looked like, like he’d _thought about this before_ …

Tim didn’t give himself time to think, he just surged up on his tiptoes and their mouths collided.

Calling it a kiss would be a kindness. For a single horrifying second, Jason remained stock-still, and Tim thought that he’d made a terrible miscalculation. Then Jason responded. There was no finesse, no gentleness, only pure hunger.

Tim forgot about the mercenaries, forgot about everything outside of the heat of Jason’s mouth, the press of his body against his, the way Jason’s thigh slid between his legs and pressed _just right_ against him.The ragged sound of Jason’s breath between kisses, and the way the silence stretched between them, allowing this to happen unimpeded. About the way Jason’s body felt under his hand as he slid his hand across his belly, under his jacket, and slid up his back, feeling the bunch and pull of muscles through Jason’s uniform. 

About the way it felt when Jason’s hand dragged down his own chest, grazing one nipple and coming to a rest just above his hip.

Tim let out a gasping, desperate sound, canting his hips up, trying to get that sweet, sweet friction, when Jason froze.

Tim dimly realized that there were loud voices very near, that he’d been too distracted by _making out with Jason_ to notice that the mercenaries were now right outside their hiding spot. That they were likely planning a move, and the only move Tim had been planning had involved his hand shoved down Jason’s pants.

Shit. 

Tim slowly extricated his hand from inside Jason’s jacket, wondering senselessly if his own mouth looked as wrecked as Jason’s did. 

Jason slowly unholstered a gun, sliding to the left and crouching down. The window-like entrance now seemed like a deathtrap; the mercenaries could easily aim their guns inside and take them out without ever allowing a clear shot.

Tim looked up, and could see the night sky. He grabbed Jason’s arm, pointed up. He was hesitant to break the silence that had fallen between them like a spell, afraid that one of them would say something that would ruin what had happened in the last ten minutes.

Jason nodded curtly, and they risked the sound of the decel lines firing. There was another rapid-fire burst of gunshots as they escaped upwards, but they only hit brick.

On the roof, Jason laughed, and Tim leaned over the edge, feeling that familiar thrill of survival as he watched the mercenaries begin to crawl into their former hiding spot.

“You ready to take these bastards down?” Jason asked, cracking his knuckles and peering down at the mercenaries, who were now crowded together, unable to fire a weapon without hitting each other. Tim didn’t miss how Jason’s gaze flickered back up to his mouth before turning his attention fully to the mercenaries.

“After you,” Tim said, gesturing grandly towards the ledge.

They dropped down, Tim fluttering his cape to create even more confusion. The feel of the mercenaries’ flesh under his boots was satisfying, but not nearly as satisfying as the hunger in Jason’s expression when he watched Tim.

Now that the violence was clearing his head, making the fact that he had made out with Jason seem wild and improbable even though he could still feel the ghost of Jason’s mouth on his, doubt set in. 

It was likely a mistake. Something that shouldn’t be repeated, no matter how much Tim hoped that it would. There were so many reasons to not, and few justifications for them getting together.

Except the thought made Tim happy, made something within him yearn for _more_. 

Tim pushed aside any thought of what might be, and focused on the moment at hand. After they’d survived, after they’d taken out the mercenaries and traced the money back to find who was funding an operation like that in Gotham, then Tim could indulge in fantasy. In a vague hope that this wasn’t a one-off event fueled by adrenaline.

But for now, it was enough.


End file.
